
Class "P S 311 

Book_ 



Vjv? M 3 



Copyright N° MAJ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



MANY CHILDREN 



zJMANT CHILD%E^ 

BY 

Mrs. SCHUYLER VAN RENSSELAER 

WITH DRAWINGS BY 

FLORENCE WYMAN IVINS 




J'etais la^ cette chose trta f vint 

LA FONTAINE 



"BOSTON 
THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY PRESS 
1921 



Copyright, IQ2I, by 
zJtCariana Qriswold Van Re?isselaer 



OCT -8 |92| 



V i it ^ 



Z). Z? . Updike, The zMerrymount "Press, Boston 



CLA627153 



^y 



TO MY YOUNG KINSFOLK 

zMART AND LOUISA, GEORGE AND JOHN 

AND MY FRIEND 

"BARBARA 



For permission to reprint a few of these poems the 
author is indebted to the courtesy of the editors and 
publishers of St, Nicholas and of Harper's Bazar 



CONTENTS 




The Wind 


3 


I Wonder! 


4 


The New Moon 


5 


Families 


6 


To a Picture 


7 


Sun and Moon 


8 


The Typewriter 


9 


The Sparks 


10 


Horse- Chestnuts 


ii 


The New "Doll 


12 


Ifybin-Food 


*3 


The Shadow 


"4 


Toppy "Boats 


i5 


The Flying Seeds 


l 7 


<^At Bedtime 


18 


The Stars in Town 


19 


The Whispering Pine Tree 


20 


c « i 





CONTENTS 




The Organ- Grinder 


21 


<*y\4anners 


22 


The Schoolboy 


23 


The Cat in the Cornfield 


24 


Bobby's Hunting-Ground 


25 


<*yt Voyage on the Lawn 


26 


^A City Boy 


27 


<^A Stormy Day 


29 


Home from the Country 


3° 


Going to Sleep 


3 1 


The Christmas Present 


3 2 


Dolly's Lullaby 


33 


At a High Window 


34 


By the Shore 


36 


The Dragon-Fly 


38 


The Cave by the Sea 


39 


Snow in the City 


41 


<^A Sad Fancy 


43 



[x] 



CONTENTS 

Harry and the Indians 44 

Barbara's Treasure- Ship 47 

c j^ose and her 'Brother 48 

The Forest of the Corn 49 

yoe-Pye Weed 50 

<JMarys Apple Tree 52 

The Sick Child 54 

What Katherine Wished For 5 7 

What Nora Imagined 58 

The ^Procession 59 

^Autumn Leaves 61 

Spring in the City 63 

The All-Tear Crop 64 

The Surf 66 

Helena *s Book 67 

e^ Thunder-Storm at Night 70 

zJMorning, after the Storm 71 

Tfo ^/W/» 72 

[xi ] 



CONTENTS 

The Lighthouse Star 74 

^/T Summer Dream 75 

<^At the End of the Summer 76 

The Hunter of the Skies 7 8 

When Tan Plays his Pipes 80 

The Unseen Things 82 



MANY CHILDREN 

THE SMALLEST ONES BEGIN THE BOOK, 
THEN, AS YOU TURN THE PAGE 

OR DOWN THE LIST OF TITLES LOOK, 
THEY GROW AND GROW IN AGE 



THE WIND 

Oh, I wish I knew! 
What does the wind do, 
Where does the wind go, 
Mother, when it does not blow ? 

In the leafy trees 
Does a little breeze 
Live till it can grow 
Strong and loud enough to blow? 

Then does it come out, 
Blow and rush and shout, 
Till it has to stay, 
Weary, weary, far away ? 

Oh, it must be so, 
For when no winds blow, 
Often in the trees 
I can see that little breeze! 



[3] 



/ WONDER! 

I wonder if the stars are fire, 

Or if the stars are gold, 
And if a little one should drop, 

'T would burn my hand to hold? 




[♦] 




THE NEW MOOCH^ 

Dear little moon that came last night, I thought 

that you would be 
All hurt and spoiled — I saw you caught and 

tangled in a tree. 

But here you are again and so you safely got 

away. 
I hope you 're learning, little moon, out in the 

sky to stay! 



[5] 




FAMILIES 

Oh, darling birdies in the nest, your beaks are big 

and wide; 
I should not think one mother could for all of you 

provide. 

But little fishes are much worse, for, father said 

to-day, 
A thousand eggs or more a fish at anytime can lay. 

How does she feed her children when they come 

out from the eggs, 
And swim around her faster far than if they ran 

on legs? 



[6] 



TO A PICTURE 

You lovely lady in my book, 
Who have so very sad a look, 
As though a tear were in your eye, 
Remember, if you want to cry, 
Instead of smiling as you should, 
No lady's child is always good! 



[7] 




SUN JLUD MOOCM^ 

Every, every day, 
Just in the same way, 
The round sun comes back 
To begin his shining track. 

Why, then, must the night 
Get its silvery light 
From a moon that's new 
Every other week or two? 



[8] 



THE TYPEWRITER 

It talks and talks but not the words 
It writes so clear and black; 

It writes my name, T-o-m, Tom, 
But says just Tick, tick, tack. 

It 's quite unlike the telephone, 
Which does not chatter so, 

But kindly calls for us to hear 
The things we need to know. 



[9] 



THE SPARKS 

Now the fire is getting low, 
Come, lay the paper down 

Where it will not blaze away 
But shrivel black and brown. 

Watch now for the soldier-boys 
As slow the edges burn : 

Regiments of shining sparks — 
See them march and turn. 

See the mountain that they climb ! 

How fast they wheel and run ! 
How they hurry! Out they go! 

The battle-play is done. 



[ 10] 



HORSE-CHESTNUTS 

Hurry, chestnuts, smooth and brown, 
Crack your burrs and tumble down 
In the grass, and roll about 
Till I come to hunt you out! 

As you are not soft and sweet, 
Like the chestnuts good to eat, 
You are fit, grown people say, 
Only to be thrown away. 

But you're handsomer at least, 
And I 'm glad that man and beast, 
Finding food like meat and oats, 
Leave you in your satiny coats. 

I will fill a box with you, 
Keep you all the winter through, 
And discover, by and by, 
Games to play at, you and I. 



[» ] 




THE NEW DOLL 

My Aunty says, "You never had 
So fine a dolly; you '11 be glad 
To give the other one away 
To some poor little girl some day." 

O Aunty, would you part with me 
If you a finer child should see, 
With longer hair and better dressed ? 
Could you pretend to love her best ? 



t »] 



ROBIN-FOOD 

I always thought the robins were 
Good parents, kind and sweet, 

Until I saw one give its young 
A worm instead of meat. 

Or can it be they really like — 
The old and young ones, too — 

Things that we never could endure 
If fed to me and you ? 

Perhaps the little robins think 
Our parents are not good, 

Because they give us bread and cake 
Instead of robin-food. 



[*3] 



THE SHADOW 

The shadow of a bird upon the grass ! 
Watch, or you will not see it pass — 
So sudden, oh, so small and swift and light, 
The shadow of a swallow's flight! 

The little blades of grass cannot, as I, 
See what is happening in the sky, 
But when the shadow touches them they say, 
The swallows are a-wing to-day! 



[ '+] 




"POPPY "BOATS 

Poppy petals — soft as silk, 
Red as cherries, white as milk. 

Shake the bowl and see them drop 
On the polished table-top. 

That 's the water where they float, 
Red and white ones, each a boat. 

Now we blow them, softly blow — 
Slipping, dipping, see them go ! 



[ '5] 



* 



& 







THE FLYINQ SEEDS 

White and tiny, here and there, 
Floating softly in the air — 

Oh, what are they ? Seeds, you say, 
Winged to travel far away. 

But they seem, in the sunshine, 
Feathers very small and fine; 

And though fairies, as we know, 
Never in the daytime show, 

They may let us see, perhaps, 
Just the feathers in their caps. 



[17] 



JIT "BEDTIME 

LJARLING, my darling! — It was mother singing 

low, 
And I heard the little fishes through the water 

come and go; 
I saw the little tree-leaves fluttering in the sky, 
Green amid the blueness where the little clouds 

go by. 

There are many, many darlings for the mothers 

far and wide, 
But my only mother sings to me, to me and none 

beside; 
I shut my eyes to hear her and she sings me far 

away, 
I open them to see her and I know what she 

will say: 

Parting, my darling! — I was down among the 

grass, 
The clover-blossoms nodded, so the daisies let 

me pass; 
I was up among the tree-tops and flying with a 

bird, 
But when he sang his song for me, 't was Darling 

that I heard. 

[18] 




THE STARS IU^ rOWCH^ 

At the seashore last week they showed me the 
stars, 
And taught me the names of a few, 
And the patterns they made, with their spangles 
of gold, 
On a sky that was darker than blue. 



['9] 



When we strolled after supper to-night in the 
Park, 
As I sometimes may do for a treat, 
The very same stars — oh, I jumped with sur- 
prise — 
Shone high over housetop and street. 

The Dipper was there, and the zigzag-y Chair, 
And the Star of the North looking down. 

— At the seashore, I wonder, what shines in the 
place 
Of the stars that have moved into town? 



THE JVHISPERINq TINS TREE 

Old pine, you whisper like the waves, 

Yet you have only seen 
The other trees and flowers and hills, 

And meadows grassy green. 

Your brothers near the sea have heard 
The whispering, I suppose, 

And taught their neighbors, and so on, 
Till every pine tree knows. 



[ao] 



THE ORGAN-GRINDER 

All day long his food he earns 
Dragging his heavy cart about, 
And, hard at work, the crank he turns 
To let the music out. 

We pull wagons in our play, 
And in our play we sing and drum, 
So he for pleasure, I dare say, 
Spells words and does a sum. 




[at] 




MANNERS 

I have an uncle I don't like, 

An aunt I cannot bear: 
She chucks me underneath the chin, 

He ruffles up my hair. 



Another uncle I adore, 

Another aunty, too: 
She shakes me kindly by the hand, 

He says, How do you do? 

[a.] 



THE SCHOOLBOY 

I am not one who hates his school — 

I like too many boys, 
And even the teachers, as a rule, 

Are persons one enjoys. 

But certain people make me hate 

To talk of school, for they 
Behave as though they must some great 

Astonishment display; 

Or call me "little man," or try 

To make it seem a jest 
To ask if scholars big as I 

Know Greek or Latin best. 

I am not big, but I can go 
To school and do my task — 

And be polite to people who 
Unpleasant questions ask. 



[*3] 




THE CAT ICH^THE CORNFIELD 

Just now I met it once again, 
The lion without cage or chain, 
Prowling about in a thick wood, 
Growling and looking for its food. 
Yellow it was, as it should be : 
It stood and gazed and gazed at me, 
Arched its back, opened its jaws, 
And stretched its many pointed claws, 
With just the very dangerous look 
Of lions in my Daniel book. 
It tried to catch me, but I could 
Escape from it in the thick wood, 
Or jump and shout and make it quail, 
Crouch and crawl and lash its tail! 



[>4] 



VOBBrs HUNTINQ-GROUND 

As orchards are for growing fruit, 
You may not guess how well they suit 
A hunter of big game who cares 
To meet with Indians most, or bears. 

With trusty gun, high in a tree 
I watch, a furry beast to see, 
While on a branch I sit astride 
And far and fast I ride and ride. 

Or under the stone wall I lie 
Amid the goldenrod, to spy 
If stealthy comes a brave or two, 
And plan what then I ought to do. 

And if no braves or bears appear, 
That proves they keep away through fear; 
They hear my horse, they dread my gun, 
And turn their backs and run and run ! 



[»s] 




cA VOYAQE ON THE LAWD^ 

Watch now a bold discoverer, 
Just setting sail from Spain 
To find America and bring 
Great treasures home again. 

My goat-cart is my gallant ship, 
And if it sometimes goes 
Too fast, perhaps, it is because 
A stormy tempest blows. 

But have no fear, though shrubs 

and trees 
Are islands hard to pass, 
For people come alive again 
Who only drown in grass! 



[z«] 



Ji CITY BOY 

I am a little city child, 

And glad that it is so; 
The country is too white and wild 
In winter with the snow. 

I love it in the summer days, 
But when the trees are brown 

And chilly winds blow many ways, 
I hurry back to town. 

My home is waiting, full of toys, 
The streets are full of men, 

And I can use with other boys 
My roller-skates again. 

Here, if the weather storms and snows, 

I cannot come to harm; 
It 's very different, goodness knows, 

With children on a farm. 



[*7] 



JL STORMY DAT 

I look out through the window, where 
The world is wet and wild, 

And fancy I am wandering there, 
A lost and dripping child. 

That makes it pleasant when I turn 

And find I am myself, 
With food to eat, and wood to burn, 

And toys upon the shelf. 

Or else, a shipwrecked sailor-boy, 

Upon the rug I lie, 
And thankfully the fire enjoy 

Until my clothes are dry. 

Or sometimes, when a deluge falls, 

At Noah's Ark I play, 
And being all the animals 

Gives me a busy day. 



[-9] 




HOME FROM THE COUNTRY 

I 'm back in town, and I rejoice 

To lie in bed awake, 
While passing feet a pleasant noise 

Upon the pavement make. 

The whistles greet me from afar 

Of boats upon the bay, 
The bell of an electric car, 

An auto's sudden bray. 



Then sounds and signals as I lie 
Grow dreamy in my head; 

But if the firemen thunder by, 
How can I stay in bed ? 

[30] 



goiNg TO SLEEP 

Tucked in bed but wide awake, 
A little journey then I take, 
Here and there where I have been, 
To see the things that I have seen: 

Pleasant things in summer places, 
And streets of people, funny faces, 
Fountains dancing in the Square 
To yellow tulips planted there. 

Though my eyes are shut up tight, 
And in my room is darkest night, 
Toy-shop windows I can see, 
The swing beneath the maple tree, 

Towers we built upon the beach 
Beyond the creeping water's reach, 
Flowers in grandma's garden growing, 
The flag above the schoolhouse blowing. 

Clear at first, at last they seem 
All mixed and misty like a dream; 
Sudden comes the morning light — 
I must have been awake all night! 



1 31 ] 




THE CHRISTMAS PRESENT 

My little box of shining blue, 
I hardly can believe that you, 
With feet of gold so bright and fine — 
That you are really, truly mine. 

My father said, while mother smiled, 
You were no present for a child — 
Much more, of course, I would enjoy 
A picture-book or else a toy. 

O little box of gold and blue, 
And lined inside with satin, too, 
How strange it is they do not know 
The reasons why I love you so: 

Because you 're pretty and, still more, 

Because I never had before, 

Or dreamed that Christmas-time could 

bring, 
For me, for me, a grown-up thing ! 



[3*] 



DOLLY'S LULLABY 

Sing, I must sing to my dear dolly, sing, 
And tell her the stories of everything. 
She is tired of my singing just "Sleep, dear, sleep,'' 
She is tired of the songs about Little Bo-Peep, 
Jack Horner, Miss Muffet, and all of the rhymes 
I have sung from my picture-book dozens of times. 
Sing, I must sing to my dear dolly, sing, 
And tell her the stories of everything! 

Slumber, my dolly ! I '11 tell you to-night 
Of trees that are blossoming rosy and white; 
Of brooks where the ripples of brown water run 
And tinkle like music and shine in the sun; 
Of nests where the baby birds sit in a heap, 
And the mother sits over them when they 're 
asleep. 
Sing, I must sing to my dear dolly, sing, 
And tell her the stories of everything! 

The summer is green and the winter is white, 
There is sunshine by day and star-shine at night; 
The stars are so many it cannot be told, 
The moon is of silver but they are of gold; 



[33] 



The clouds are like ships and the sky like the sea, 
Only turned upside down over dolly and me. 
Sing, I must sing to my dear dolly, sing, 
But I never can tell her of everything ! 



ATA HIGH WINDOW 

Here is my lofty watch-tower where 
I see the things of earth and air. 

I see the clouds that bring the rain, 
Their shadows on the fields of grain, 

The cloaks they lay upon the breast 
Of hill and mountain at the west. 

Beyond the hills I see the sun 

Grow large and red when day is done; 

The moon I see, quite small and new, 
A curving line upon the blue; 

And down the valley, now and again, 
Far, far away, a railroad train, 



[34] 



By day a trail of smoke, by night 
A little moving line of light. 

Far, far away, I think, in it 
How many men and women sit, 

All rushing on and on to come 

To their own town and happy home, 

Where they may like some day to see 
A train go by that 's carrying me. 



[35] 




<BT THE SHORE 

When tired of building forts and walls and ditch- 
ing them about, 

I sit upon the sand and watch the tide flow in or 
out. 

And always at the edge are waves, always, though 

there may be 
No ripples on the water near, no tossing out at 

sea. 

They may be little, little waves, perhaps an inch 

in height, 
Yet they can rise and curl and fall and plash as big 

ones might. 



[36] 



Just as one dies another comes, and always more 

and more, 
While ever runs their whispering voice along the 

quiet shore. 

At night when all is hid away in darkness, still I 

know 
They curl and break, and up and down their little 

distance go. 

And even in winter, I am sure, when I am far 

away, 
There 's surf upon the beach or else my little 

waves at play. 



[37] 



THE T>R AGON-FLY 

Flitter, flitter, Darning-needle! Who 's afraid 
of you, 

Though you are so thin and sharp, so steely-bright 
and blue, 

Though you come and go so quickly with a buzz- 
ing noise, 

Quite as though you meant to worry timid girls 
and boys. 

Flitter, flitter, Darning-needle! Oh, I know you 
are 

Only hunting flies for supper, hunting near and 
far— 

For I don't believe the gardener when he says he 
fears 

That a Darning-needle sometimes sews up chil- 
dren's ears! 



[sn 




THE CAVS BY THS SEA 

Among the great rocks at the end of the beach 
There is a great cave that I never can reach, 
Nor should any boy who is smaller than I 
Climb up, as I do, to look over and spy 
The tide flowing in or the tide flowing out, 
And crabs in the kelp, perhaps, scuttling about! 

For once I discovered, deep down in a place 
Near the mouth of the cave, what I thought was 
a face 



[39] 



Looking up through the water, and watched it to 

know 
If it moved or the tide only made it seem so. 
But the waving of hair I was sure I had seen — 
At least if the hair of a mermaid is green. 



[40] 



SNOW IC^THE CITY 

Winter, winter, here again ! 
Soon you '11 rage with might and main ! 
Soon the flurries of the snow 
Whirling through the streets will go, 
Or, perhaps, the livelong night 
Down will come the flakes of white 
Straight and softly everywhere 
Through the cold and quiet air, 
Covering all the silent street 
Smoothly with a spotless sheet. 

Then, alas, will people come 
In and out of house and home — 
People, horses, autos, all 
Trampling down the white snow-fall, 
Men to shovel it all day, 
Carts to carry it away. 

Oh, if we were flakes of snow, 
I would beg the wind to blow 
Far across the river, far, 
Where the hills and valleys are, 
Where, beyond the towns and homes, 
Never any person comes. 



t4' ] 



There the sparkling whiteness may 
Lie unspoiled for many a day, 
Only patterned by the track 
Of a rabbit scurrying back 
To his burrow, or a bear 
Hunting near his hidden lair — 
Sparkling, shining, till the sun 
Wakes the green things one by one, 
And the snow-flakes melt to be 
Springtime drink for flower and tree. 



[4* ] 



Jl SAD FANCY 

Suppose Columbus had not sailed the sea! 
Then all the grandfathers of you and me 
In foreign countries would have had to stay, 
Instead of setting forth to drive away 
The Indians first, the British later on, 
And change King George for General Wash- 
ington. 

And you and I, of course, would have been born 
In some strange place abroad to mope and mourn, 
To have no country of our own but be 
Just English, Dutch, or Irish; never see 
The flying Stars and Stripes, and take no trips 
To Europe ever in the big steamships. 



[43] 




HARRY cAND THE INDIANS 

You say corn-stalks piled together, 
Drying in the autumn weather; 
/ say Indians, many a row, 
Where the corn-stalks used to grow 
Leaves and tassels changed to be 
Blankets, feathers, plain to see. 

Indian chieftains seated round, 
Cold and ragged, on the ground, 
Rustling, talking — never a one 
Sees me creeping with my gun, 
As they crept when 't was their joy 
Our forefathers to destroy. 

[44] 



Maybe — who can tell us now? — 
As he walked behind his plough 
In this very field, a dart 
Pierced a pale-face to the heart, 
Or a captured child was borne, 
Shrieking, through the rows of corn, 

Yet it seems a shame for me, 
Now they sit so mournfully, 
Cold and ragged, bent and brown — 
Shame for me to shoot them down. 
And suppose, when it was done, 
Hiawatha should be one ! 



[«] 



"BARBARA'S TREASURE-SHIP 

Oh, sailor-men and sailor-boys, far, far away at 

sea, 
Fill up your ship with curious toys and foreign 

things for me ! 

Bring me a branch of coral white, and shells all 

pink inside, 
And amber beads they say you find on beaches at 

low tide. 

Bring me the scarves and golden shoes that Per- 
sian ladies wear, 

With emerald rings, and pearls in strings to twist 
up in my hair; 

A big macaw, all red and blue, a small green par- 

rakeet — 
And do be careful, sailor-boys, when stormy 

winds you meet ! 

Then if you 're tired of voyaging when at my gate 

you stop, 
I '11 give you new-laid eggs, and cakes with icing 

on the top. 



[47] 



ROSE .AND HER 'BROTHER 

Often by myself I play, 
For my brother, strange to say, 
Does not like the things he ought 
Or have patience to be taught. 

Never will he search with me 
For the cave where we should see 
Crooked little gnomes come out, 
Or a faun to frisk about. 

He will not believe when I 
Show where fairies danced, or try 
Underneath the ferns to find 
One that has been left behind. 

Seldom will he even be 
With Columbus on the sea, 
Or with a Crusader band 
Spurring to the Holy Land. 

Sleds he likes, and skates and swings, 
Bats and balls and shooting things, 
And he laughs whenever I say 
He does not know how to play. 



[ 48 ] 



THE FOREST OF THE CORC^ 

Between the tasseled rows I run 
And hide from people and the sun; 
They roof me in and shut away 
The world I live in every day. 

They rustle like a forest tall 
Where orchids grow and parrots call, 
Or like the swish on marble stairs 
Of silken skirts a princess wears. 

And when I tire of listening, then 
I turn around and round again — 
So fast and oft, I do not know 
Which way I came, which way to go. 

I cry, Vm lost, I'm lost! and fear 
There is some lurking danger near ; 
Swiftly I run and run, and then 
I reach the open world again. 

I love to shudder and pretend 

A wilderness without an end, 

And find it only is the corn 

Quite near the house where I was born, 



[49] 



JOE-PYS WEED 

I wonder who Joe Pye may be that owns the 

purple weed. 
I 've watched it slowly blossom, slowly fade, and 

go to seed; 

But I have had no word or sign that Joe Pye ever 

came 
To see the purple blooming of the plant that 

bears his name. 

'T is very handsome — it may be he stays away, 

Joe Pye, 
Because he hates to have it called a weed when 

he is by. 

Of course the farmers scoff at it and say it does 

no good; 
They only care for things that serve for men or 

beasts as food. 

But if they 'd look at it for once, would really 
stop and look, 

And see it growing tall and thick beside the hid- 
den brook, 



[50] 



With golden-rod all mingled in and wreaths of 

virgin's-bower, 
Perhaps they would not laugh at me for calling 

it a flower. 

I hope, though, that Joe Pye may come in blos- 
soming-time next year, 

For who he is and where he got his plant I long 
to hear. 




[51] 



{MART'S JtPPLE TREE 

They Ve cut it down since I was here 
In the warm summer-time last year; 
They 've cut it down, the apple tree 
That really did belong to me ! 

It did not stand, my apple tree, 
In any orchard company, 
But in a garden large and square 
With pleasant pathways everywhere. 

The paths are edged with rows of box, 
The birds come there in busy flocks, 
And lovely flowers as summer passes, 
And parsley-beds and ribbon-grasses. 

Always this garden was for me 
The Garden of the Apple Tree, 
For there its strong and leafy boughs 
Had made for me a pleasure-house. 

High up they held, yet not too high, 
Hidden from every passing eye 
In the green shadow cool and sweet, 
A true and comfortable seat. 



[ 5* ] 



One branch was large to sit upon, 
And then there was a smaller one 
That ran quite straight and properly 
To make a sofa-back for me. 

I loved to climb into my seat, 
And sit at ease and swing my feet, 
And there my knitting-work I took, 
A story-paper, or a book. 

I loved to sit there and to find 
Strange fancies coming to my mind, 
As though the whispering leaves might be 
Repeating fairy poetry. 

It was my apple tree, my own, 
Because I knew, and I alone, 
That it had shaped itself to be 
A playhouse for a child like me. 

The men that killed it could not know 
I loved my tree so much — but oh! 
Why did they cut it down? And how, 
How can I do without it now ? 





THE SICK CHILD 

I 

The ^Aquarium 

I do not care to see the toys 
A child when it is well enjoys, 
Or speak when mother stoops to say 
I 'm better now than yesterday. 



It tires me even when she talks; 
I wonder how she stands and walks; 
/ cannot turn myself in bed, 
Or use my spoon, or lift my head. 

[ 54] 



The pinks and roses that she brings 
Please me to look at, but the things 
That do the most to comfort me 
My father put where I can see. 

There in the water, through the glass, 
I watch the goldfish float and pass 
Among the plants and creeping snails, 
And gently move their golden tails. 

They float, they swim, here by my bed, 
But make no sound to pain my head, 
The golden fish that silently 
Wave the green plants to comfort me. 

II 

getting Well 

Long weeks I lived in mother's bed, 
Or on the sofa, but to-day, 
"Stand up, my girl," the doctor said, 
" And walk a little way." 

As slowly then I moved around, 

I felt astonishingly tall, 

And in the glass a face I found 

Too white for mine and small. 

[55] 



Then, holding by the window-sill, 
How great the change that met my eye 
Such thick green leaves when I fell ill, 
And now so few and dry. 

As far as to the library 
To-morrow I may walk, and there 
Wait for my dinner pleasantly 
In father's easy chair. 



[56] 




WHAT KATHSRINS WISHED FOT^ 

What are we going to be 

When we get to be women and men 
Jennie and Florence and me, 

Johnnie and Peter and Ben ? 

It is a game to play, 

But I hardly can play with the rest, 
For they try to persuade me to say 

I wish for what they think the best. 



[57] 



/ wish only to look 

Like Juno or Helen of Troy, 
Write a wonderful poetry-book, 

And have five little girls and a boy. 



WHAT NORA IMAGINED 

In from the sea to the bay 

(When I am not a child any more) 
A ship may come sailing some day 

As I sit on a rock by the shore. 

In from the ship to the beach 
The sailors will come in a boat, 

And finding me there within reach, 
Will capture and bear me afloat. 

Out of the harbor's mouth 

I shall sail at the turn of the tide, 

Off to the isles of the south 

With a pirate chief as his bride! 



[58] 



THE PROCESS 10 C^ 

Soldiers march, a band of music plays its finest 

tune, 
But there 's something better still that must be 

coming soon. 

Now I hear it, far away yet — hear it as it comes 
Nearer, nearer, up the street — the sound of fifes 
and drums ! 

Oh, there is no other noise that 's half so brave 

and gay, 
Or that makes your heart beat so and takes your 

breath away. 

Drum, you drummers ! Fife, you fifers ! How I 

wish I could 
March behind you into battle as a soldier should! 

Drum, you drummers! Roll your thunder, loud 

and louder still ! 
Fife, you fifers ! Fife and whistle, high and clear 

and shrill! 

If I hardly keep the tears back, 't is not only I — 
Any one must laugh and shout or he would have 
to cry! 

[59] 



AUTUMCH^LEAFES 

Oh, the rustle of the dead leaves, 
Yellow, russet, brown, and red leaves ! 
All night long the storm-wind blew them, 
Shook them from the trees to strew them 
Where the children's feet can go 
Tramping, trampling, to and fro. 

Oh, the wind, the stormy fellow ! 

How he blew them, brown and yellow, 

Red and russet, hither, thither, 

Like the flakes in wintry weather, 
So we might tramp to and fro 
In the leaves as in the snow. 

Forward march, then! Follow, follow! 
March along here in the hollow, 
Where the piles knee-deep are lying, 
Kick and toss and send them flying. 
Hear them crackle as we go, 
Tramping, trampling, to and fro ! 



[6. ] 



SPRINQ IC^ THE CITY 

Oh, the spring comes very quickly when it really 

means to come, 
And we soon forget the long delays that were so 

wearisome. 

The gusty rains, the dusty winds, have blown 

themselves away; 
The breeze is soft as summer-time and warmer 

every day; 

And the flags that top the houses all along the 
Avenue 

Seem twice as gay because the sky is such a shin- 
ing blue. 

Out in the Park the winter-buds, that safe on 

every bough 
Kept from the cold the baby leaves, are bursting 

open now. 

The maple-trees and elms are hung with fringes 

green or red — 
The tasseled flowers that come before the leaves 

have time to spread. 



[63] 



There are bushes golden yellow, there are bushes 

frothy white, 
That were only budding yesterday but blossomed 

overnight. 

And by hundreds and by thousands dandelions 

will star the grass, 
Till the scent of the first cutting fills the sunshine 

as we pass. 



7H£ ALL-TEAT^CROP 

It is springtime in the Park and a million flowers 

are out ; 
There are tulips, there are daffodils, and pansies 

all about. 

But however bright the blossoming and sweet the 

green may be, 
All round the year the babies are the sweetest 

things I see. 



[64] 



In their go-carts and their basket-wagons all the 

paths they fill, 
Unless it 's really raining or is snowing harder 

still. 

They are so very many,it seems strange who owns 

them all, 
Yet sometimes there 9 s a family, like ours, with 

none at all. 

O mother, do you know the plan, and think it 

would succeed, 
To coax the friendly stork who brings the babies 

people need? 

With his present in a kerchief, safely knotted in 

his bill, 
Will he fly to any window where there 's sugar on 

the sill ? 



[65] 



THE SURF 

A storm, a storm, has blown at sea ! 
The waves it made roll up to me 
And break upon the rocks and sand, 
Making a splendid shouting noise, 
As to the green and quiet land 
They call with loud and louder voice, 
A storm, a storm far out at sea, 
A storm, a storm, a storm at s-ea! 

All that my sailor friends have said 

Who live and travel on the sea, 

All that in books I ever read, 

Or learned in my geography, 

Of ships and ports and foreign men, 

Of distant lands and wondrous sights, 

Of pirates and of old sea-fights, 

The surf repeats it all again 

And cries, A storm far out at sea, 

A storm, a storm, a storm at sea! 



[66] 



HELENA'S <B001^ 

Some day I mean to write a book, 
And never let a person look 
At any page or word or line 
Till it is printed clear and fine, 
Till in the bookstore it is piled, 
And parents buy it for their child. 

It shall be made of verses all, 
Of different poems, large and small, 
And no one shall the writing see 
Because I want my book to be 
My own entirely, from my heart. 
There I shall rhyme and set apart, 
In poetry-pictures, this and that 
That children love or wonder at, 
That children do, or want to do, 
Believe, or wish was coming true. 

Oh, many are the books that hold 
Beautiful poems that were told 
By men and women, so that we 
May read and happy children be. 
But only one on all our shelves, 
I think, tells of the children's selves, 
From end to end, in such a way 
We might have written it at our play, 

[67] 



I mean the one, the "Garden" one, 
Of Robert Louis Stevenson. 

This is so very true and good, 

I 'm almost sure I never should 

Have thought to write another one, 

If Robert Louis Stevenson 

Had put in all the things I see 

And all the thoughts that come to me. 

When he was young he was a boy, 

And there are things that girls enjoy, 

Things that they think or like to play, 

That the "Garden" children do not say. 

I cannot try to do it now — 
I must be older to know how 
To choose a word, to match a rhyme, 
To make the lines keep perfect time. 
But of my book in bed at night 
I think, and plan to make it right, 
And in my memory store away 
Important things I want to say. 

O Robert Louis Stevenson, 
If, when my little book is done, 
There is a child of any age, 
And anywhere, who finds a page 

[68] 



That gives such pleasure as you give 

Wherever little children live, 

I shall be proud, and grateful too. 

I shall confess I copied you, 

And wrote (perhaps not quite so well) 

Only what you forgot to tell. 



[69] 




JL THUNDERSTORM JIT NIQHT 

Lightning — off there in the south where 
through the darkness show 

Shapes of distant mountain-tops against the sud- 
den glow. 

Thunder — very far away but echoing back and 

forth, 
Nearer, nearer coming as the clouds are rolling 

north. 

Wind — how shrill it whistles as it pulls the clouds 
along, 

[70] 



Pulls and whistles, shrieks and sings a loud and 
piping song. 

Rain — how suddenly it falls, with what a dash- 
ing sound, 

Like a solid thing, almost, that shatters on the 
ground. 

Lightning in the wind and rain — right here a 

blinding flash, 
Thunder in the rain and wind — just overhead 

a crash. 

Let them rage, all four of them, and roar around 

the skies; 
Soon the morning comes and then a shining sun 

will rise! 



(MORNING, AFTET^THE STORM 

More diamonds than a king has seen 
Hang on a million blades of grass ; 
Like fairy-land the woods are green 
Beneath the blue and shining sky, 
Where pass and pass 
The white clouds softly by. 

[ 7i ] 



Loud, loud and merry is the brook 
That only murmured yesterday; 
The maples have a glittering look, 
And all the dark old pines are bright, 
On every spray 
A jewel-drop of light. 

I love the lovely world that wakes 
Out of the storm so smilingly, 
And yet I sorrow for their sakes — 
The nest that perished in the rain, 
The broken tree, 
The field of beaten grain. 



THE riOLIV^ 

Far, far, and high and clear, 

Oh, I could hear 

An angel sing as he began — 

As he, the man 

Who played to us^ first touched the strings 

And moved the bow that says so many things, 

Far in the sky 

The angel sang, so softly and so high, 

So faintly clear, 

I held my breath to hear. 

[7*] 



Then soon 

The music grew to be a little plashing tune 

Like rain that dropped 

On summer leaves. And when it stopped — 

The little plashing tune 

Like gentle rain upon the leaves in June — 

It was because 

The violin had other things to tell 

That, while it spoke, I understood as well. 

Now I forget, excepting that there was 

An ending when 

The angel came to sing again — 

Oh, very soft and high — 

A sweet and far-away good-bye. 




[73] 



THE LIQHTHOUSB STAT^ 

In at my open window a star, 
More bold and bright than the planets are, 
Shines to my pillow — now dimly shows 
Through the cloudy white as the curtain blows 
In the breath of the wind, now darts its gold 
Straight as a spear and as bright and bold. 

On the long coast north, on the long coast south, 
At the harbor's heart and the harbor's mouth, 
Guarding the edge of the pine-grown land, 
Warning away from the spits of sand, 
A star of the reef or an island star — 
Many the brothers of my light are. 

The Lord did not station them there to show 
The ships of the sea where their pathways go. 
With a loving heart and a patient hand, 
It was men that lifted them up to stand 
Darting their beams to the ocean's rim, 
To watch for the sailor and counsel him. 

But the Lord gives thanks to the men, I am sure, 
Who thought of the stars that can make secure 
The path of His children at sea in the night, 
Who builded their towers and kindled their 
light — 

[74] 



Hundreds of others and my great star, 
As steady and sure as the planets are! 



JL SUMMER DREAM 

In the night I left my bed 

To follow where the moonbeams led ; 

And the night-wind and the moon 

They led me on, and showed me soon 
In the woods a hidden nook, 
While they whispered, Look, oh, look! 

Fairies, fairies dancing there 
With waving hands and blowing hair, 
Scarves of cobweb, swords of grass — 
I saw them meet and turn and pass 
In a ring of firefly light, 
Fairy folk of the summer night. 

Then the moonbeams led and led, 
And, hearing what the night-wind said, 
Left I looked, and looked to right, 
And saw another wondrous sight, 

Seldom seen and seldom told — 
Pygmies, kobolds, digging gold. 

[75] 



And once more the night-wind cried, 
Oh, harken well on every side ! 
And the forest seemed to be 
All full of things I could not see, 

Calling, singing, Come, oh, come! 

As the moonbeams led me home. 



JIT THE END OF THE SUMMER 

What whispers, whispers, in the hollow 
Where the leaning birch tree grows ? 
What bids me come, what bids me follow, 
When the wind at twilight blows? 

Not the wind and not the tree — 
Something else is calling me. 

I hear it when the rain is dropping 

On the bushes ; in the stream 

It murmurs, murmurs without stopping, 

Like the river of a dream ; 

And I seem to hear it sing 
Wherever birds are on the wing. 

It must be Summer, calling, calling ! 
For the cold is drawing near, 



[76] 



The frost is biting, leaves are falling, 
So she calls for me to hear: 

I am flying south, and you, 
If you will, come too, come too! 




t77] 




THE HUNTET^OF THE SKIES 

There he shines, Orion, splendid in the night, 
With the two great stars that make his shoul- 
ders bright, 
One that 's like a buckle worn upon his knee, 
And a glittering sword-belt where the stars are 
three. 

Hunter is Orion, huntress is the moon, 

But he hunts all winter, she grows weary soon. 

When she comes again and waxes brave and 

bright, 
She will find Orion has not missed a night. 



Once, late in the summer, from my bed I crept 
Wondering what the world was doing while I 

slept, 
And I saw the Hunter rising from the sea, 
Shoulder-stars and belt and star upon his knee. 

Up from the sea-water slow I watched him come; 
All the other stars moved on to give him room; 
The great Bull he hunted kept a space ahead, 
And the Dog Star followed where the Hunter led. 

Then on the sea-water, smooth and almost black, 
Trembled here and there a tiny golden track; 
That was where Orion sprinkled down the light 
Of the stars he carried, climbing up the night. 

When at last I turned and stole back to my bed, 
Low down in the east the sky was growing red. 
Oh, you great Orion ! your chase that night was 

done — 
Even the great Hunter flees before the sun ! 



[79] 



WHECK^PAN TLATS HIS PIPES 

\JH, I know, I know the way 
That, when 'Tan begins to play, 
Trooping come from far and near 
All the things that want to hear ! 



Birches twinkle by the river, 
Swallows flash on slanted wing, 

Thrushes, with their hearts a-quiver, 
Shut their throats and dare not sing. 

Wild-fowl come with hurried flocking 
Where the wild god pipeth shrill, 

Sedges, in the river rocking, 
To the rapid motion thrill. 

Tiny furry creatures linger, 

Stretch round eyes and stare to see 

How the honeysuckle's finger 
Marks the measure daintily. 

Lazy moths forget their sleeping, 
Lizards glitter as they run — 

Dancing, flying, fluttering, creeping, 
Come the wild folk every one. 

[So] 



From the fields, the woods, the hollows, 
Rocky clefts, and river's brim, 

Every little live thing follows 
Horned Pan who pipes to him. 



[81 ] 



THE UNSEEO^THINQS 

Along the banks of the smooth brown brooks, 
Where the birches lean and the grape-vine swings, 
By the river pools, in the forest nooks, 

On the garden paths at night, 

On the sea-beach at twilight, 
I have looked, I have longed, for the Unseen 
Things : 

For the nymph of the hills and the water-sprite, 
For the faun and the dryad of woodland ways, 
For the tiny ones met in a fairy rite — 
All the sweet wild folk of old, 
That we know from stories told 
By the poets and singers of far-off days. 

In their own old time they were not unseen — 
The hunter, the shepherd, the wandering boy, 
Might chance on the places where they had been 

At rest in the shade by day, 

In the dawn or dusk at play, 
And know them by signs of an innocent joy : 

By the trodden grass, by a withering wreath 

Of white narcissus, an unstrung bow, 

Or a flute, perhaps, that was dropped beneath 



A laurel bush carelessly, 
Or the broken twigs of a tree 
Where a bather had swung to the stream below. 

And once in a lifetime, perchance, in a place 
All stillness and beauty and strangeness, he met 
With one of the Wonderful face to face — 
With one who had strayed away 
From the sport of the rest or lay, 
Though they had awakened, in slumber yet. 

Oh, surely to-day they are not all gone; 

They are few, they are shy, but are not all dead ; 

In the wild-wood I shall have glimpse of one, 

If only a flutter of white 

Far off" in the dim green light, 
And the flying hair of a golden head ! 

THE END 



[ 83 ] 




J£XK 




